


Spectrum of Love

by psychobabblers



Category: DCU
Genre: 5+1, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobabblers/pseuds/psychobabblers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce and Clark are soulmates, but cursed so that being near each other has catastrophic consequences for the world. The multiverse though, can't keep them apart. 5 alternate universes where they almost make it to each other, and one where they finally do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forever Road

_The man was running toward them._

That was the only thought that ran through Bruce Wayne’s mind as the unmistakable silhouette of a man raced not away from the shrieking mass of bodies but _towards_. Was he insane? Was he actually one of _them_? But Bruce discarded that theory as soon as it came up. The man ran confidently, footsteps sure and direct, and in his hand he had some sort of weapon. Those creatures never used weapons, for their razor sharp claws were more than enough to do permanent damage, and they had hunched postures and a insane rabidness to them that made every instinct Bruce had stand on edge.

This man didn’t provoke that feeling. Bruce wondered what he was doing. He couldn’t be trying to—no, he _was_. Those people the creatures had attacked were beyond saving, with only one still standing. Even as Bruce watched, one of the monsters turned on him, teeth glinting dully. The man didn’t seem to recognize the hopelessness of the situation though, because as Bruce watched in disbelief, the man leapt into the fray, dispatching three of the creatures before the horde even realized he was there. The fallen creatures were quickly finished off by their kin and the survivors advanced on the man.

Before Bruce realized what he was doing, he was running, like the man had earlier, not away, which would have been the smart thing to do, the practical thing to do, but towards. He shifted his grip on the hilt of his knife and stabbed it into the back of one of the creatures about to bite the man’s shoulder, ripping it free with a sickening tearing sound. Bright green blood instantly began pouring out of the wound and Bruce stabbed it again and again until it stopped struggling. Then he moved on to the others. The creatures had no sense of unity or team, for they attacked as individuals, and were as likely to fall on the claws of one of their own as Bruce or the man’s blows.

Finally, the last of them lay in a slumped mess on the ground, the dust the fight had kicked up reluctantly settling back onto the ground. The people the creatures had originally attacked had long fled; only one had been killed before the man had reached them. Bruce was wiping his knife clean on a part of its corpse not covered in blood—it would not do to let his only weapon become damaged—and was checking to see where the man had gone off to when there was a shriek and a dark form came hurtling toward him. He lifted his knife reflexively, but too slow, the claws were aimed for his throat — when something threw itself in front of Bruce and shouted with pain as the claws tore into his chest. In a flash, Bruce had the monster gutted on the ground. Then he carefully turned around to the prone form of the man lying on the ground. With a familiar sinking feeling, Bruce saw that it was a mortal wound. Perhaps with adequate medical supplies…but there was no point in wishing for what simply didn’t exist anymore.

He should really leave, but he stared at the man instead. Bruce cursed himself for not getting involved earlier. Then perhaps… If he hadn’t been such a damned coward, the man might still be alive. There had been no point, Bruce had thought when he’d seen the struggling group of humans and monsters. He helped when he could, but more and more, he’d begun to question the point of it. The point of anything. Once, he would have mocked himself for such melodramatics, but it was the end of the world now; he had a right to be melodramatic.

Bruce should slit the man’s throat—better to take the guilt of murder on himself than to leave the man helpless to be eaten alive if more of those creatures should reappear—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He sat down next to him instead, kicking of the dead monsters away for a spot to sit. He didn’t need to rifle through his pack to find his supply of food—he knew exactly how much he had and where he had put it—but it gave him something to do.

Reminded him of life before everything had gone upside down. He chewed on some dried meat.

Bruce had an unopened bottle of water in his pack that he’d been saving. He took it out now, staring through the dusty plastic as if hoping he could find the answer to the universe it its depths. There was no answer to be had.

Only water. Bruce would happily give up any number of answers to _Why?_ to have a shower, get rid of the layer of dust and grime and blood that had accumulated on his skin.

Unconsciously, he licked his dry lips; his mind may have come to terms with the fact that there was no water, never enough water, but his body certainly hadn't. He licked his lips again, shaking the bottle a little to hear the water inside slosh around. If he just closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the wondrously liquid sounds, he could imagine his shower. Raindrops on his arms. The burbling of a stream. Coffee sloshing in a cup.

He licked his lips again, his mouth as dry as it had ever been.

There was a deep groan behind him and Bruce hunched his shoulders a little, trying to block out the sound. But it was no use. The groan came again as the water sloshed in the bottle. Bruce turned around.

"Why did you go, why do you always have to go?" he muttered savagely, not even knowing who he was addressing, not caring he was wasting words, precious words, as he opened the bottle with a care that defied his angry words. He wanted to lick his lips again but didn't want to taste the dust.

He knelt and opened the bottle carefully, setting it against the man's lips and allowing a few drops to trickle out into his mouth. Bruce watched one of them slowly slide down the man's chin, wanting to lick, but not daring to. The drop hovered on his chin now, and Bruce stared at it, urging himself to do it. Imagined water on his tongue. The drop trembled and fell, and Bruce watched it get swallowed by the greedy, chapped earth. He swore at himself.

“Thank…you,” a weak voice said.

Bruce was surprised that the man was even conscious. “For what?” he asked brusquely. “I should’ve helped as soon as I saw them.”

“You can’t…be expected to help…everyone,” the man gasped out, blood tricking out the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, Bruce reached over to brush it away with his thumb, but only succeeding in smearing.

“You’re wrong,” Bruce said angrily, not at the man but at himself. “They were people in trouble. There shouldn’t have been any doubts. As soon as we start thinking, ‘That one is worth saving but that one isn’t, they’ve won.’”

The man moved his head a little so that he could peer at Bruce better. “Who’s ‘they?’”

Bruce shrugged. “I have no idea,” he admitted. He gestured to the flat, empty land around them, the smudge of an abandoned city in the distant horizon. “This happened for a reason. Something must have caused this. The ‘they’ is whoever or whatever is that reason.” _I’m going to find them and make them pay_ , Bruce didn’t say, because it was a ridiculous goal even in his head.

He brought the bottle back against the man’s lips but he turned his head away.

"Why...effort...for a stranger?" the man was trying to sit up. “…Can’t save me.”

“Why’d _you_ help those people?” Bruce countered, gently pushing him back down. “A lot of people would say they weren’t worth saving.”

Anger flashed briefly in blue eyes, anger that Bruce recognized, before fading. “Everyone’s worth…saving,” the man said.

Bruce allowed a small smile to touch his face. “Exactly.” He let some more water trickle into the man’s mouth. Watched his throat move as he swallowed and wished…for what? To kiss that throat? Maybe once upon a time. Now though, it was an unconscious decision, his body always desperate for water.

“Clark Kent,” the man said, when Bruce carefully recapped the bottle.

“Bruce Wayne,” he replied, not missing how the man’s—Clarks’s—eyes widened at the name, but he didn’t comment.

“So who were you before—” he waved his hand vaguely at the empty, never-ending barrenness that stretched out around them in all directions.

“A farm boy…from Kansas,” Clark chuckled weakly.

“Huh,” Bruce said. “Didn’t know farm boys had such a heroic streak,” he commented lightly.

“Didn’t know billionaires…had one either,” Clark shot back.

“Funny how the world turns out then,” Bruce said with a shrug.

It was…pleasant talking to Clark. Bruce hadn’t felt so relaxed in months. Of course, even now, in relative safety, Bruce was constantly alert. He couldn’t afford to let his guard drop. The creatures could come back at any moment, drawn to the scent of blood and violence lingering in the air. If it hadn’t been for the dying man – if it hadn’t been for Clark – he would have been long gone. Clark, who was dying. Clark, who had tried to save those people beyond saving. Clark, who had saved Bruce’s life at the cost of his own.

  
Bruce clenched his fists. How dare this stranger choose to give his life for him, to declare with his blood and his gasping, dying breaths that Bruce was worth that life? He’d seen so much death in the past few months, that one more shouldn’t be such a big deal. Unconciously, he moved his hand over Clark’s limp one, listening to the sound of his struggling breaths. Clark’s fingers twitched weakly beneath his. Bruce felt emotions he had forbidden himself to feel anymore stir inside him. Hopes and wishes and dreams. He wanted to know this man, wanted to know what his favorite color was, what he did for a living, what his eyes would look like lit up with passion.

 _There was no point_ , he thought savagely. The world had ended, and here he was, wishing over a dying man.

 

* * *

 

Bruce stood there, head bowed, looking at Clark long after he had breathed his last, until the not-sun began to set and a different kind of light started burning up the sky. He knelt and gently brushed a hand over Clark’s eyes, closing them.

Then he turned and picked a new direction, since he couldn't remember which way he'd been going before. He took a step forward and then another. He had an urge to turn his head to look at the still form on the ground. But he didn’t; he kept on walking, on and on, straight toward the dying sun.

 


	2. Chasing the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragonrider one...

The great head lowered so that one brilliantly blue eye gazed at him. The mouth opened a crack, showing a hint of gleaming, jagged teeth, the gust of hot air it breathed out smelling of ashes and flame.

The man standing before the dragon bowed his own head. "Kal- El," he said, the formal tone a mere shadow of the promise already drawn in blood between them for the assembled humans below and dragons wheeling above.

"Our peoples have been at war for as long as even the eldest among us can stretch their memories to. It is a war that has cost us all dearly. It is a war that is ravaging the land to barren wastelands, devoid of life and beauty. And it is a war that neither race is destined to win." He paused, looking over the silent audience calmly.

Then he turned to the dragon standing at his side. "To end this war, and bring peace to our peoples, I throw down my crown and scepter and take up the shield." There was a shocked outcry from the humans, but Bruce Wayne, first of his name, the most powerful human in the kingdom, continued, voice echoing strongly over the din. "I give my fealty to the land, to justice and to peace. And I pledge my loyalty to Kal-El so that both our peoples may have this peace."

The great dragon lifted his head in an earth-shattering roar that brought a stunned silence in its wake.

"As I pledge mine to you and this land," he said gravely.

As their audience erupted once again, the man turned and cautiously put a hand on the dragon's scaly neck. It was warm and dry. He could feel the muscles rippling beneath the scales as Kal-El, Lord of the Dragons, shifted. "I know we've had our differences in the past and I know that you don't like or respect me, Kal-El, but I hope that this alliance will at least do some good for our people."

The dragon smiled a surprisingly cheerful grin for all the jagged teeth that it revealed, a distinctly human gesture, the man realized. "I think, now that we are effectively bonded for life, you can call me Kal, don't you? And I have always respected you, Bruce,” he said. “And from what I’ve seen from you so far, I’m sure the liking will come quite easily.”

_Bonded_ . To a  _dragon._ His advisors had pleaded with him not to try, that it was a trick, that the Dragon Lord would betray him. But something had to be done, and Bruce had never backed down from a challenge. And still, bonding with Kal had been the most grueling moment of his life. The alien weight of his mind almost crushing his so that it took all his willpower, all his strength to withstand the battering existence of Kal. 

But it had been worth it in the end. His instincts about the dragon had proven correct. Bruce was determined that his rule be one of peace.

*

There was no way out of it. The bond they had formed was binding, as intended. "You’d think they'd be more eager to let go of war," Bruce sighed, watching the first meeting between humans and dragons for years. That it wasn't going well was an understatement.

"They will come around."

"Not if the humans keep bringing their weapons to the meetings," Bruce muttered, glaring at the human delegates bristling with knives, axes, swords, and various assortments of sharp, lethal objects.

"It's not like the dragons can disarm themselves," Kal pointed out.

Bruce opened his mouth to retort, but was distracted by the sight of Kal rolling his eyes. He let out a surprised laugh.

“You’re picking up rather noticeable human traits now you know,” Bruce mused as the gathered delegates began loudly arguing again. Almost an entire turn of the hourglass of quiet discussion this time, Bruce noted. They were getting better.

Kal rolled his eyes again and brought the meeting back under control with a groundshaking thump of his tail. “I like humans,” he said sunnily to Bruce, ignoring the wary looks both the human and dragon delegates were shooting at him. “They’re fascinating.” He nudged Bruce playfully with his head, almost knocking him over. “Especially you.”

Bruce leaned his head against the hot, scaly neck. “I suppose dragons aren’t too bad themselves,” he drawled. He grinned at Kal’s attempt at a pout. “Especially you.”

*

Kal’s eyes widened slightly as he alighted on the rocky ledge, the soft puff of air that his landing kicked up still surprising Bruce that such a large, powerful creature could land so gently. “I had the blacksmiths make it up for you,” Bruce said, sticking his hands in his pockets as Kal delicately sniffed the pile of metal in the cave.

“It's beautiful,” Kal murmured.

“Happy bonding day,” Bruce said in reply.

Laughing blue eyes, at once so alien and yet filled with such humanly recognizable affection, blinked slowly at him. “It's traditional in my culture to gift a great pile of steaming entrails from a dozen freshly slaughtered sheep.”

“Sheep you stole from my kingdom, you mean?” Bruce asked with an amused smirk.

“Lost sheep wandering the free countryside,” Kal said innocently.

Bruce made a humming sound and the dragon chuckled, a thin tendril of smoke billowing from his mouth.

“I brought this for you,” Kal said, unclenching his massive claws to reveal a leadlined box.

Bruce took it. He could feel Kal trembling in his mind a little, though the dragon seemed calm on the outside. “What is it?” he asked, instead of opening it.

“A ring,” Kal said as quietly as a dragon could.

Bruce wanted to make a joke about proposing but he didn't think Kal was well versed enough in the nuances of human custom to get it. Still, he delayed opening the box, concerned about the way Kal was feeling.

“What's special about it?”

“It is our greatest weakness,” Kal said solemnly. “It renders us unable to fly. Our flame dies as ash in our throats. After long exposure, our scales begin to crack and fall, and we begin to fade.”

“Why are you giving this to me?” Bruce asked, although he thought he already knew.

“We are so powerful,” Kal said. “I wanted you to have it, for safekeeping, and just in case one of us goes rogue. And because I trust you.” And Bruce felt the weight of all that he said, twined within the simple words.

Bruce put it carefully away without opening it. “Thank you,” he said. Gently, he ran a hand over a wing. “I hope I never have cause to use it.”

*

They gazed at the wreckage somberly. Burned trees and houses. Twisted, mangled bodies. Bruce felt his stomach twist as he looked at them.

"How do you not think my people monsters?" Kal said, his voice heavy with grief. Bruce felt his heart clench at the words.

"Because of you, Kal," Bruce said softly. "Because I know that this is just one, small band of dissidents. Because I know that humans can be just as cruel as these dragons were."

Bruce felt Kal's hesitant question in his head. "It wasn't dragons who murdered my parents you know. Humans," Bruce said, "have just as much to answer for as dragons do." He felt Kal flinch at the sudden flood of memories before he could block them. His parents, murdered on the way back from a diplomatic visit by a band of outlaws, taking advantage of the lack of soldiers to rob some rich nobles. That same band of outlaws had gone on to raze a town to the ground, before some minor lord was able to muster up enough militiamen to capture them.

Kal bowed his head and looked out past the decimated village, past the thin cloud of smoke starting to fade away in the mountains, and then up to where the stars lay like gleaming jewels in the dark sky. Bruce felt his sudden desire to leap into the air and escape the mess of a land that had been their generation’s to inherit. He felt Kal’s desperate curiosity, the thirst to _know_.

"One day, my friend," Bruce whispered. "One day when there is peace and no more blood reddening the earth. Then you and I shall go where the stars lead us."

Kal rumbled his agreement, and Bruce breathed in deeply and didn't even care about the taste of ash.

*

“Don’t come with me, Bruce,” Kal growled when Bruce made to climb onto his back. Ash was pouring out of the sky now, strange ash that blanketed the ground like dirty snow. In the black sky a pinpoint of light drew closer.

Bruce bared his teeth in a dragon expression of stubbornness. “I’m not staying behind.”

Kal snarled, smoke curling out of his nostrils. “I don’t want to argue with you. You’re not coming, do you understand me? You are not coming.”

Bruce clenched his fists. “Why not?” he growled, already knowing the answer but asking anyways.

Kal looked away and up to the sky, towards the burning point of light.

“I promised you we’d go chase the stars together,” Bruce said. “I keep my promises.”

“But that’s not a star, Bruce!” Kal rounded on him furiously, claws scraping harshly against the stone. “That’s—that’s a _thing_ , a hurtling piece of rock and destruction.”

“I won’t let you go alone,” Bruce said, and Kal’s tail lashed angrily at the words.

“There’s no time,” Kal said. “I don’t want you to—don’t want—”

“I won’t let you die alone,” Bruce amended.

Kal roared, in his mind, and toward the crowd, so suddenly that many of Bruce men hastily put a hand on the hilts of their swords. _They can't lose you_ , Bruce felt in his mind. _They are lost without you. I wont let everything we've built together be destroyed. Promise me._

Bruce gritted his teeth and nodded slowly, even as his entire being raged against this, feeling the _wrongness_ of it, that they were being separated  _again_ – again?

But then Kal was lifting off, the sweep of his wings loud as he rose to meet the falling star. And Bruce stayed on the ground, watching over his people, both human and dragon, as they silently watched Kal crash into the comet at exactly the right angle to send them both spinning away, crashing into the sea.

The screaming in his mind abruptly cut out and he fell to his knees.

“Sire,” and he looked up slowly, to see an armored hand reaching out to him. Yes, there was work to do, and no time to grieve. Kal's sacrifice would not be in vain. He took the hand and was lifted to his feet. His mind whirled with plans on how to deal with this, how the various factions would react, and what his countermoves should be. He had no time to think about the yawning emptiness in his being.

And yet.

Bruce dreamed of flying every night for the rest of his life.

 


End file.
